HalfLife 2: Children of the Seventh Hour
by iKon Shabazz
Summary: The story of five born out of the fires of the Seven Hour War embark on a journey of Revolution. This is their story. Starts out slow, but don't worry, it gets better!
1. Chapter 1

Half-Life 2: Children of the Seventh Hour

A Fan-made fictional story,

By Connor M Scovil

Sitting on a moving train always seems to bring me nostalgia. The floor beneath your feet rumble and shake, and personally, it reminds me of the days when the ground quaked at the power of the Combine's mightiest forces while we stood firm against them, and showed them the power of the human race. The ding-ding of the train bell reminds me of the signal we used to warn each other of their coming, though t'was a bit less discreet; chimes, which were tugged twice to signal the advent of our bitter foes.

However, today I can't honestly there was any hope left. The train, apart from my six friends, contains only the driver and a Combine grunt, making sure we did not try to pull off an escape during our transport to Nova Prospekt. We have heard stories about this place: Those that go in have never escaped intact. I wouldn't indulge myself in these rumors, as tales of torture and fates worse than death have never given me much of a morale boost, let alone a moment of entertainment. As if snapped from a trance, I snapped upward, surprised at a sudden pinch felt on my forearm. Was it a bug? I took a brief peek into my right sleeve to find my cuff and broken chain still there, and hope is reborn once again.

_**Two years ago…**_

"Shamus?"

"…"

"Shamus!"

"…"

"SHAMUS WAKE THE FUCK UP."

Couldn't they let me sleep for a few more minutes? The voice of my sister's buddy, coupled with the demanding yell of my best friend Leon, prompted me to open my eyes, feeling that familiar rumbling of that train vibrating against my back. "Hm…?" I said, before yawning quite loudly. "What is it?"

"We've arrived," Leon responded in his usual grumbling, and in his pricelessly sarcastic style, he placed a hand on his heart and in synchrony with the man on the wide screen, announced, "Welcome to City 14!"

Leon looked at me, seemingly bored with the surroundings already. "What's with you, lying your head on your sister's lap. Do you have any decency?"

"She's a nice pillow."

I pushed myself upward, slowly but surely, rising from my place of rest. I gave a sleepy hug to my sister Morgan, who returned the hug with a look of distance in her eyes. She wasn't paying much attention, as usual. "Where's our—"

"Stuff?" asked a girl not a day younger than we were, but about a foot shorter than I. "They took it. They always do that."

"Well isn't that great," Leon grumbled, none-too-happy with the situation. "Hope they don't take shit like the rumors say."

"What do you have," the girl asked, "a lucky pair of underwear?"

"Oh can it, will you?" he hissed in return. "I've had enough smart-aleck comments from Trish, I don't need it from you."

The doors finally opened, and we followed the few people out of the train and into the station. Nudging my sister a few times snapped her back to reality and she was the very first one off. Upon exiting, I took a good look around at our brand new environment. I wanted to vomit right at the start. This place looked exactly like the one I left. Not physically, let's make that clear; however, the very environment was truly identical. The stale colors and sterile air, with a rotting city serving as one of the last testaments of a bygone era made me sick upon the initial ocular sight. Like the last city, I also felt the presence of artificial eyes staring at me from above. Of course, the instincts were not without their merits; I turned round one hundred eighty degrees and laid my eyes upon a Scanner. These were essentially your average flying camera. They had a shield for a 'head,' and flew from place to place taking pictures of the city and its citizens, especially those that the robot deems 'suspicious or interesting' in accordance to its programming. As soon as it has a good look at me, the scanner snapped a picture of my profile along with a shot of Leon and the back of my sister's head before flying off to attend to more pressing matters.

"Seems as though they have them here too," the small girl said. "Hey, I'm Kim. Nice to meet ya!" She extended her hand for anyone to shake. Leon wasn't happy, Morgan wasn't paying attention, so I was the one to extend a measure of courtesy. I shook her hand lightly, giving her a smile. "A pleasure," I said as this Kim returned my smile with her beaming grin.

Morgan entered back into our world, and looked at this new girl with an interest I never thought she could muster for anything. She wasn't the type to talk, or have much of a hobby apart from writing. "Oh, Kim, right? It's very nice to meet you…"

"You're the quiet type aren't you?" Kimberly bluntly pointed out.

Spot on.

"She's the quiet one," Leon interjected with a grin, putting his strong hand on my head and rustling my hair. God, I hated that. "And he's the bookworm."

"I'm not much of a reader," I retorted, looking down.

"Yeah, you don't read much. When I came over to your apartment, your sister had to answer the door because you were reading that ancient tome. Something about the west, right?"

"All Quiet on the Western Front," I made clear.

"You see? There's your proof."

Kimberly chuckled, "It's nice to see someone who reads more than what's in the funny pages. Say, you talked about a person named Trish on the train. Were you talkin' about Patricia Matthews?"

"Well she doesn't like to be called Patricia, but yeah," he responded. Why does he care if she's called Patricia or Trish? He calls her a she-devil with blonde hair for goodness sake!

"I know her!"

"How do you know her?" I asked. Maybe she'll give us directions.

"I'm her roommate, of course," she boasted proudly.

"Liar, you seem too happy than someone who was cursed to be _her _roommate," Leon responded, rolling his eyes.

"No, it's the truth," Kimberly insisted, waving us to follow her as she strolled through the entrance. We promptly showed our IDs to the Civil Protection officer, who let us through the turnstiles. For some reason I enjoyed hearing the rickety clanks of the turnstile turning round and round. It sounded more fresh and alive than did any other part of this dreary building. "You guys the new people moving in next door?"

"Yes," I said, waving farewell to the Civil Protection officer, who waved back in an unusually friendly way. "Oh, pardon, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Shamus, the pixie head is my sister Morgan," I pointed at her with my thumb. She wanted to stick her tongue out at me, I bet. "And the big guy's Leon."

"Yo," Leon greeted half-heartedly. "Whaddya mean big?"

"Nothing in particular," I responded, "Your muscles make you… 'big.'"

"You running out of your fancy words, I guess."

"Yes; quite vexing, really."

"Shut up."

Kim shook her head, giggling at us. "You two seem like brothers."

We both looked at each other. Leon was taller than the rest of us, around six foot two, and completely built. The man was handsome as could be, as my sister said, and if there wasn't a suppression field there might have been trouble. His darker complexion, wavy black hair and green eyes made quite the model. I, on the other hand, am white, and I stand at a modest five foot nine and a half, moderately long ash-blonde hair and blue eyes. I don't sport a tan or a set of abs, but I've been described as adorable.

"Nah, he's white," Leon blatantly blurted out. "Can you show us the way to the demon's lair?"

"Demon?" Kimberly blinked at Leon, tilting her head.

"My pet name for Trish," he explained.

"That's mean," Kimberly said, a little annoyed, "You better not give her any trouble; our lives are a li'l rough, and the last thing she needs is _you _abusing _her!_"

Leon towered over this small Asian girl with a temper flaring up like fire off of a broken Molotov cocktail in a room full of gasoline. "Listen, you, the LAST thing I need to hear is a fucking LECTURE—"

"Hey hey hey," the Civil Protection officer came over to us, removing his pale white gas mask to reveal a friendly face, one that could appear on a magazine add no doubt. His combed, greying hair and whiskers seemed to make him look like a Dad more than a soldier for the Combine. "Relax you two, I don't wanna have to have you brought in! Just calm down, big guy, and discuss your problems like the good guy I know you can be."

Leon stared right at him like the guy was absolutely _nuts. _"Who _are _you?"

"I'm Tony H. Calhoun, but there's no time for me to talk anymore. please, get a move on," he pleaded, putting his mask back on. We all stared at him like he was nuts, including I, despite the lack of courtesy staring involves. He was Civil Protection, not a Kindergarten teacher. Not like there were any kids anyways. "Don't want you guys to get in trouble."

Promptly, we left this awkwardly reasonable human being to his own devices in the train station. It was quite odd to say the least. It was a while before any of us spoke; we merely followed Kimberly to the main lobby of the train station. All I could hear is Leon's grumblings about how 'Tony H. is a faggot.' No one else here was that fond of him either; I know we were presently the youngest people on Earth, but we were in our very early twenties; speaking to us as children doesn't come off too well at all. Then again, to most other people, we _were _children.

Around twenty some years ago, the Combine capitulated the entire socio-political order of the entire planet in a startling seven hours. Soon after, the Combine installed a Suppression Field, which by the destruction of certain protein chains, has lowered human birthrate down to zero. Hopeful couples could no longer conceive, most babies in the womb were killed… in any rate, all of us, Morgan, Leon, myself, and later on I learned our two new compatriots were born sometime during the Seven Hour War. They called us the 'Seven Hour Children,' 'Children of the Seventh Hour,' or 'Those Young People Over There,' more often than not.

Not only did the Suppression Field prohibit conception, it also destroyed the desire _to _procreate. Not that love was eliminated; there were plenty of marriages, but as far as sex was concerned… well maybe there was a lack of sex _because _they were married, but that's just my light-hearted conjecture. Sexual attraction exists, but it is becoming increasingly sparse, restricted to younger people who were themselves getting older, and those whose sexual interests cannot lead to procreation.

Children of the Seventh Hour was our title, though there may be more of us than just this group of friends; frankly at the time, I could care less, and to digress, we stopped in the middle of the lobby room. The train station also contained a Combine Dispenser. A cobalt contraption was mounted upon a wall, looking something like a futuristic furnace. T'was the size of a human body, and it was one of the sole sources of food in this brave new world as the colony of the Combine. Kimberly turned towards it.

"Hold on, I told Trish I'd pick up food," she said. "You might want to get in line too; I have enough ration points for extra meals, but I'm sorry to say we don't have enough to feed you."

"Fine, fine," I responded, "Come on; let's get our food for tonight."

Leon snorted. "I can't believe we have to wait in line for this crap."

"Yeah, but don't worry," Kimberly chirped, "There'll be a change soon enough. We'll finally live our lives in a better way."

The three of us looked at Kimberly curiously; there was to be a change? There hasn't been much change in the ways of the Combine for nearly a decade and a half, and the Combine has had a presence on planet Earth for twenty years! Civil Protection was still, despite their ability to keep a stable world order, violent and intrusive, rations were sub-par, our outfits were all still a dark blue jacket with dark blue pants… If there was to be a change, I pray it was to be rations coming with ketchup. Or an alternative dress code; I'd prefer anything over this outfit.

Kimberly patiently waited for us as we fussed with the machine. A few swipes, a button press, and a five minute wait for authentication, verification, and processing, I finally acquired my rations. The whole of fifteen to twenty minutes were spent on this damned machine, with Leon cursing at it when it decided to malfunction on _him_. Thankfully, he was a person who exercised, one good punch landed on the machine spat out the rations he desired. In order to avoid confrontation with a couple suspicious Civil Protection officers, we then high-tailed it out of the station and into our new home called City 14.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor Scovil

We reached our apartment building with relative ease. T'was a good long walk, which half of us happily took while Morgan and I were griping incessantly about how far we've traveled on foot to reach our new home. Leon called us pussies, and I called him an exercise nut, and spent the rest of my way begging him to give us a piggy-back ride with my sister. Morgan wasn't the talkative type; I guess this was her reacting to a new city with new people, gradually becoming socially accessible.

We found our bags at the front door of our apartment room upon our arrival. Eerie, really… to think they knew where we just moved in… but in any case, Kimberly decided that unpacking was secondary; we must be invited over.

"It's only me and Trish," she insisted, tugging on Exsilius' civvies. "Come on inside! We'd love to have you over!"

"I wouldn't mind…" my sister spoke up, everyone looking towards her. She sort of stuttered a little after realizing much attention was being paid to her, "...S-seeing T-T-Trish again…"

Leon groaned, I didn't care, and Kimberly already had this decided in her head that we were coming over. I personally just wanted to go to bed. T'was a long walk indeed, especially for me. The small girl beamed a big Cheshire smile in our direction and opened the door for us. T'was the typical residential building room in terms of structure, but the lemony-fresh scent gave me the indication that this particular place was much cleaner. We took a look around, and saw not much in the way of disarray. Everything was neat and clean; it was obvious that Trish lived here.

"Kim? I can't find my coat hanger," said a voice as pleasant as a summer-breeze, as our old childhood friend Patricia Matthews came out from around the corner. She hated her name, despised it, preferring 'Trish' over any other nickname. Trish stood tall, around 5'8, with long platinum blonde hair and dark blue eyes filled with insight that shined with circumspection. Couldn't be too careful in this world, I guess. Trish was quite beautiful; verily, I haven't met a more attractive human being in my entire life. Morgan always seemed a bit nervous and flustered around Trish more than anyone else, despite being good friends, and I myself couldn't resist a look. She and I were book-buddies; Trish shared with me a love for literature, and we went on about different stories for hours growing up. However, with Leon, things were much more complicated, and to Morgan and I, very confusing.

Simply put, if one put them into a confined space alone together, it wouldn't be entirely irrational to gamble on the possibility of walking back in after a half-hour to see blood stains on the walls. Leon and Trish _hated _each other, absolutely _loathed _everything _about _each other. They argued with each other, they ignored one another, and they refused to have anything to _do _with each other. Or at least, so it seemed. Leon always put up a good show when we announced that we were to visit Trish, but he never refused to come along. When Trish saw him, I never saw hatred initially. Her eyes lit up and she just started glowing with anticipation. I remember coming over one time; she was waiting at the table and immediately asked why Leon wasn't with me, who was helping my sister up the stairs when her leg was broken. They _seemed _to hate each other, but I believe that this sort of interaction balances itself on a fine line between hatred and deep friendship.

"Oh, well if it isn't Leon," Trish said, glaring at him fiercely. Maybe she hadn't forgotten… "You still owe me an explanation. Why did you throw my underwear drawer out the window?"

Apparently she hasn't forgotten after all.

"Because you threw out my dumbbells," Leon growled in retort. He hadn't forgotten either.

Trish then placed one hand on her hip, and responded, "I did that because you left those sweaty bricks of metal on my bed! I had just cleaned the sheets, for goodness sake!"

"You were _thirteen, _and you were already a neat-freak! I set them down to _go to the bathroom!_"

Kimberly turned to me and asked, "How long _has _she been a neat freak?"

"Since we first met," I replied. "She shook my hand and washed hers afterwards. She was six years old."

"Wow."

That was the one thing about Trish. When we first met her, she was a complete germaphobe. Trish would overreact to an idle sneeze as a child. It seemed she was well-adjusted nowadays, but still, she's got a long ways to go before achieving complete normality.

"Just because I don't appreciate dirt and sweat everywhere like _you do, _doesn't mean I'm a neat freak!" The argument between Leon and Trish was heating up, and no one let these fights get overboard, lest there be a brawl. I had no idea how to intervene, really; there was no way I could side with Leon, nor could I side with Trish. She had no right to throw out his weights, and Leon should have the decency to refrain from throwing an entire underwear drawer out a two story window. It looks like I'll have to let this one die off on its own. I led the way to the kitchen table, pulling out the chair for Kimberly who thanked me with a nice bright smile. For some odd reason, the yelling seemed to slowly die down as soon as we left the room. Was it our fault that they're so aggressive towards each other? Were we like fuel for that fire?

In any case, it took a while before they both returned, Leon and Trish discussing how life was for herself on the way back. I guess they've matured enough to know when to call it a day… or in their case, an hour. They let us stay over for dinner, and what we had was shared rations and previously boiled, refrigerated water. The food was atrocious in taste, but the lot of us had dealt with the taste for so long we had forgotten there was different-tasting food out there.

But despite the lackluster meal, we were all very happy; this was a day we had been waiting for for six straight years. Sure, there was someone new in this group, but Kimberly was a good person, and we welcomed her into the fold. She was born elsewhere, but at the same time as we were. Conceived at the most dangerous time in human history, we are the Children of the Seventh Hour.

And here we sat, the last generation in human history, sharing rations and stories like old men.


	3. Chapter 3

Connor M Scovil

We left for our residential room after dinner, waving goodbye to Trish and Kimberly casually as we stumbled over our own feet, tired from the travel and intoxicated by the watered-down wine Trish had acquired earlier in the week. It was late when we arrived inside, and we didn't really care about how we had literally forgotten to unpack our things in favor of our reunion. We all eventually collapsed upon either a bed or a couch, and passed out until morning.

Dinner and wine revealed to us that our hardships back in City 11 were shared by Trish and Kimberly twice-over. Kimberly was unemployed, a former secretary for Civil Protection who was forced out in favor of an older, more experienced woman, and Trish worked as a nurse for the local clinic, which was an admirable profession, but didn't pay very much. The occasional second job and fiscal discipline allowed paying for the minimum number of rations along with barely making the rent. Trish hadn't had much in the way of luxury for years, and sharing a home with another person made her life a tad more troublesome. Kimberly did her best to help around the house and fetch the rations, modest contributions in lieu of the possible benefits of employment.

Leon apparently rose from his slumber at daybreak, waking me up with his sleepy footsteps towards the door. What was he doing? There was a curfew for goodness sake! What if Civil Protection had decided to patrol this neighborhood? He was risking an awful lot.

I wasn't about to let him get caught, though in my half-awakened state of mind I daresay I was overreacting. To think the 'Metropolice' as some may call them would be patrolling a residential building is entirely ludicrous. Despite this, I rose from my place of slumber and followed my friend to the door. He never paid much attention to what was behind him, which made sneaking up on him when we were younger that much easier.

I let the door open a crack to see what he was doing. Leon was standing in the hallway, outside of our new neighbor's door, exactly one minute before Trish opened her door in a white coat draped over her shoulders, with a cream dress shirt and dark jeans. "Oh, Leon," she exclaimed, a tad surprised. "Why are you…?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he responded simply. He was hesitating, and as a result didn't add onto his reply.

"…Okay…" Trish said, a little put off by the silence. "What do you want to talk about? Use your words, please, I'll be late to work if—"

"You aren't makin' a lot of money," he interrupted, looking downward. "I know I can't just get Shamus and Morgan to do the same thing, but… we have jobs prepared for us. I'm working with the Metrocops—"

"What? Why—" Trish nearly yelled she was so surprised.

"Shut up, damn it, I'm not a Metrocop. It's sort of like I'm working for them, but all I am is a mechanic; my job is to fix broken dispensers and stuff, but I get their pay."

"Oh," she sighed in relief. Why would she have a problem with working for Civil Protection? Sure, the Combine wasn't my ideal vision of a one-word government, but despite their faults, our Benefactors have at least made strides in preserving order throughout the world, not to mention managing to feed us. All regimes have their problems, and so do organizations like the Metropolice, but the good they do outweigh their faults, rumors aside.

"But still… make sure you don't involve yourself too deeply in the Combine."

Leon completely ignored her. He rarely took deep interest in much of anything outside of his workouts, let alone any jobs he had held. "Shamus is working for a library or something with Morgan of course. And we're all friends, so… perhaps—"

"No," Trish responded, "I won't accept your charity, Leon. Keep your own money."

"Don't be stupid," he growled, "I'm not giving you any damn money. I was thinking instead of individually handling our own money, we can pool it together, and spend it for all of us instead of just on each other."

"So you want us to give up our money and put it all in one place so we spend it for everyone's sake?"

"Yes."

"How would this work? How will we decide on what to buy?"

"Group vote."

This conversation was entirely unexpected. As ashamed as I am to say it, I never looked upon my best friend and thought he was in any way intelligent. He was stubborn to the last and downright refused to learn anything outside of his own bubble. What he needed to know was all he cared to know, or so I thought. This was a very nice, well thought-out idea, and I have to say, I was impressed.

"Trish…" Leon continued, finally making eye contact with her, "We do have our differences, and we argue a lot, but despite all that, for some reason, I can't just sit here and let you work yourself to death."

Trish was as surprised as I was, though no one knew of my listening in. Leon was being courteous, thoughtful, and sympathetic towards another person, and it was Trish of all people! I guess he drank more of that watery wine than we did, or… he was maturing?

Nah that will never be.

"…Would you like to come in?" Trish asked, and through the little crack in the door I could see an admiring smile. "I'm going to call in to take a later shift. I'll fix you some coffee, if you would like."

Leon didn't object, and the two walked into that lemon-scented residential room and shut the door behind them.

Believing I was either dreaming or still inebriated, I shut the door myself, and went back to bed. However, questions came to mind. Why hadn't Kimberly acquired another job? It wasn't hard to find work, but the dinner conversation made it sound as though she hadn't been searching for another job since her firing. And Trish was being a tad strange, reacting to Leon's job choice with such vehement opposition; why would she have a problem with Civil Protection? Well, of course the raids were sometimes unjustifiable, and many of the beatings were as well, but overall I believed they were alright.

What was she up to?


	4. Chapter 4

Connor M Scovil

A month had passed since that night, and everything was going well. Leon's idea worked splendidly, and the combined profits helped us pay for food and newer civvies and even some luxury goods. I bought a nice portable chess set for Morgan, who loved the game and was very good at it, and for myself I bought _1984, _by George Orwell, though I'm afraid I was too busy working to read it. Trish and Leon still argued, but unlike before I sensed no poison in their words, and while they weren't arguing over some mundane situation, they carried on well together.

Kimberly turned out to be an excellent friend, not to mention a very bold and eccentric young girl. Accomplishments were made in lightning speed with a flick of her black hair and a blink of her oriental eyes. We were friends, yes, but she and Morgan surprisingly hit it off quite well. Morgan hardly liked to talk, and zoned out frequently, but when she was with Kim, there was something of a fire lit under her backside and she was thrust back to Earth with a fervent energy, especially when they found a common interest in computers and chess.

My company was Leon and Trish, of course. Leon was my best friend, and I had a wonderfully plentiful amount of ways to tease him about his getting along with Trish. He didn't like it, but I loved watching him get peeved. However, when it came down to it, Leon was usually absent until the late afternoon, working on fixing those dispensers everyone just _adored. _As a result, I had a bit of time alone with Trish. It was alright, of course; I liked Trish's company. We talked about books and our jobs and the dumb people we meet with. Sometimes she would ask about Leon, though. "How is he really doing?" "I hope he's not a Metrocop." "When does he return?" As uncommon as they were, these comments and questions gave me opportunity to tease her as well. She took it better than Leon, but unlike him, there was a line I couldn't cross with Trish, so I kept things more respectable, as I generally try to.

This evening, we all came together for dinner, and stayed for the night, watching the television and having nice conversations. I have an awful habit of falling asleep really late while sober, so I watched as my friends drifted off to their dreams one by one. Kim and Morgan were sitting next to each other, asleep in their chairs. Leon and Trish were on the couch, snoring ridiculously loud. Trish lay on top of his back as if Leon was some kind of a body pillow.

And finally, I fell asleep by the windowsill, listening to Wallace Breen responding to a letter concerning the legitimacy of the Combine's jurisdiction on our own planet, rebuking the very idea of a world without our Benefactors. I usually agree with him, but his justification for the brutality of a number of Metrocops was rather crude and unconvincing. "When the Protection teams use physical measures upon a seemingly innocent Citizen," he stated with his fatherly, philosophical voice glowing from the speakers of the television, "It is for the greater good. If one suspects a citizen of planning an arson-attack upon a residential building, would it be more effective to take immediate action and subjugate the potential criminal? Or would it be fair to endanger the lives of others by letting him burn the building to the ground before taking action against the criminal? It is imperative to put trust in our men and women in the Civil Protection squads, and moreso in our Benefactors, who are responsible for all but destroying the criminal world that has plagued humanity since time immemorial."

The way he spoke would prove convincing for those of weaker minds, easily convinced by a man in a suit with a kind, paternal voice, but as for thinking people, we were left with a rather immature justification. Many of the people who were attacked by the Metrocops were picked entirely at random, most of them on their way to work or some other area, trying to live quietly in this stale, unforgiving world. I wasn't hitherto under the impression that Civil Protection made random assaults a policy for deterrence. What's more, it seems as though now that abusing the policy was not only overlooked, but encouraged, and was freely practiced without fear of reprisal.

I sighed as the sounds of the television started dimming into muffled, incoherent blabs. It wasn't like I could intervene in any way. What could I possibly do to stop them?

I leaned my head against the window as the light patter of the rain carried me off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Connor M Scovil

A week later, Leon and I were walking home together, carrying cases of B water cans. Trish always boiled that water, for some odd reason. Must have been her germaphobia, I guess. In any case, as Leon technically worked for Civil Protection, he had privileges the normal citizen could not dream of having. He could violate curfew among other things, and we were doing just that.

Despite this time spent together, the conversation was sparse, so I decided to start the dialogue.

"So how's work?" I asked.

"It's fine," Leon muttered, "My supervisor keeps recommending I transfer over to the Metropolice or even the Overwatch. "

"Your girlfriend wouldn't like that," I joked with a mischievous smile on my face.

"Shut up," he immediately responded. "She's not my girlfriend. Why would she date me?"

"You're implying she turned you down or something."

"I never asked."

"I'm sure."

"You know what," Leon said, who looked ready to beat me over the head with the case of B water bottles in his hand. Note to self: teasing Leon poses a health hazard. "If I have to hear your bullshit one more time I swear to God I'll leave you bleeding on the…"

Leon turned round, taking notice of something before I did.

"What?" I asked.

He didn't answer, and when I looked I saw exactly why he had stopped. There was a Metrocop and three civilians bludgeoning a hapless woman in the most brutal fashion, her cries and whimpers met with a nightstick and boots. I then realized that this wasn't a random woman.

Leon ran over to the scene of the assault as soon as this scene completely registered in his brain. The assailants didn't take notice of him until he grabbed the Metrocop by the shoulder and slammed the full savage force of his fist through his gas mask, shattering it into three parts, and into his face. Leon was always aggravated, sure, but I never have seen him so enraged, nor so violent. The blow to the Metrocop's face was so powerful, a loud, morbid crack was heard, and his body fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Leon had killed him. The three other attackers had jumped back and took pause; they were having trouble registering the fact Leon was so strong a direct hit to the center of the face could kill a man. This provided him enough time to grab the nightstick on the ground and the dead cop's holstered pistol, and with those weapons he killed the two citizens, leaving the other one wounded in the thigh to limp home. Leon immediately attended to the woman on the ground.

"TRISH! TRISH, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

The horror I felt when I saw one of my best friends, Trish Matthews limp and bruised and bleeding, could not be described. I almost wanted to run away, I almost vomited at the sight. Littered upon the ground was a ripped cardboard bag and canned goods Leon had earned through his work, all lying on the pavement that was stained with blood.

Leon had never been more hysterical about something in his entire life. Trish was alive, thank God, but her breathing was faint, and her wounds near-fatal. I gave Leon my blue jacket, which he promptly used to stop the blood flowing from her hip. He ripped off the sleeve to deal with the bloody nose she had.

The sole surviving attacker was about three buildings away, trying to run with a leg that was shot and electrocuted. "You're not getting away with this! I'm reporting this to Civil Protection, you fucking shitfaced spick!"

"FUCK YOUR CIVIL PROTECTION," Leon roared horrendously loud at the figure in the distance. "IF YOU EVER TOUCH HER AGAIN, I'LL RIP YOUR LUNGS OUT WITH MY BARE HANDS!"

He picked Trish's unconscious form off of the pavement. He turned to me, his face full of anger, hate, fear, disgust, and tears. "We have to get her home NOW. Leave the shit, I want… I want her at home."

We ran home, me trailing Leon several feet away. I never felt so disgustedly bitter in my life. Breen couldn't justify this, there wasn't a possibility. Trish was a beautiful, heartwarming person and the Combine made her into a sack of meat to kick around. I was so blind with this anger I couldn't focus my thoughts on the matter more than five seconds. The only thing that mattered now was Trish's safety, and getting her home. Worry for ourselves was to come to us later, but the priority for the both of us was unconditional and unanimous: Trish's safety.

The flickering streetlamps further dimmed our field of vision through the dark of the night, but did not diminish our resolve as we stomped through puddles and pushed through lines to get to home.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a heavy week for everyone in our makeshift family of friends. Kimberly burst into the extremes of hysteria when she laid eyes on Trish's pale and bloody body, and Morgan was so sickened by the sight she vomited onto the floor. Leon wasn't contained either. He was shouting at them to get random things, such as bandages and at one point even toothpaste, for we ran out of tape and none of us has seen glue since early childhood. With a bit of fussing it sort of sufficed. It was an entire night of panic and tears, all of us crying and fearing the worst fate. Leon wouldn't tolerate the talk of death (her state was extreme, mind you), and literally threw Morgan out of our home and into the hallway once she began to talk about the worst possibilities.

Leon did not go to work. He had called in sick, and we barely were able to convince him to do that since it involved leaving Trish's side. It was a relief to hear they would pay him while he was absent as his job performance was stellar, but they cut the amount, which hit us hard financially. Leon had forced the rest of us to go to work. None of us wanted to leave Trish alone, including myself.

It was a miserable three days for me, personally. The first of these days involved a powerful thunderstorm, and the pouring rain provided an internal calm; the weather distracted me, as I could only make it to the Library if I focused on finding my way through the consistent torrential downpour and the fog to my workplace. The next two days, however, showed me that life went on. No one seemed to care about what had happened; there haven't even been any questions from the clinic concerning her whereabouts. It was only later on when I realized they fired her for unexcused absences. I was personally insulted by the Breencasts airing repeatedly on every large screen outside. He was saying nothing about Trish. He didn't apologize, nor did he make any excuses. Using hindsight, I realized he was the Administrator of Earth. He wasn't about to concern himself over one local incident when there were much more pressing international matters to attend to, but at the time, I wasn't thinking with that measure of reason. I was angry, I was bitter, and for the first time in my life I _hated _the Combine and Wallace Breen. I couldn't even look at a Metrocop without feeling my fists clench and my jaws clench together. I was so ensnared by this rage that I walked straight by our residential building. Self-loathing took hold as I took the two-block trip back to our home. I nodded to the landlord, an old woman who had the look of a prison warden on her face. "Did you pay the rent?" she asked in a stern voice.  
"Yes, we did about two days ago," I responded, trying to temper myself. I wasn't in the usual serene state of mind, to put it lightly.

"I don't remember that at all," the landlord replied, her wrinkled face forming a hideous frown. Her sentences formed slowly, but her voice was as disgusting as a witch from the west. "You're lying, I gamble! You and that blonde must be forging or stealing because I haven't seen someone pay up front like that!"

I wasn't about to assault an old woman, despite my anger. I was at a limit too. She wasn't saying much that couldn't break my composure usually, but the past few days had taken a toll on my psyche. "You don't remember because your brain is rotting with the rest of your God-forsaken husk of a body, _Miss," _I explained with a bit of poison spraying off of my words. "We paid you, now I'm going up to the room that we paid for, and I'm going to check on my friend before I crack your head open over my KNEE."

I swear to any God that exists I regretted saying that to her. I didn't want to snap at her, let alone threaten her with such brutish levels of violence. I just wanted to see Trish and Leon, and being accused of shorting the landlord wasn't helping my current state of affairs.

The third day, I couldn't bring myself to leave my room. I took a sick day, and I sat in the chair behind Leon, leaning it back upon the dresser adjacent to the doorway so as to not fall over. It was then I learned just what Leon was doing while everyone was away. He was changing the sheet keeping Trish warm once a day, as to make recompense for his inability to help on certain matters. Morgan and Kim kicked him out at times to change her clothes and to wash her. He understood the reason why he had to leave, of course, he just wish he could help more. Leon had actually moved the tea maker from the kitchen to the bedroom, not just to calm himself down, but to also produce a cup for Trish the instant she desired when she woke up.

"And to think you were going off about not giving two shits about her before you got here," I muttered with a mixture of bitter sarcasm and exhausted patience. The complete change in language took Leon off guard at first.

"What's with you?" Leon asked, too distracted by my choice of words to counter my comment. "The only time you swear is when you're mad or scared."

"I'm both. Aren't you?"

Leon sighed, revealing for a second an exhausted man on the verge of collapse from the façade of a resolute vanguard seen as nothing less than indestructible from all who saw him. "I'm more scared than angry. Not just because of Trish, but because of what we did to get her outta there. I killed a Metrocop and two other people… I feel sick just rememberin', and if that guy I let go went to Civil Protection or Overwatch, this could put everyone in danger. You, Kim, Trish… what are we gonna do?"

"Immediately?" I asked, looking down at Trish. "Attend to her."

I had noticed it not a moment earlier; shifting eyelids, her hands tightening a grip on the air and setting it free seconds later, and a tired moan hardly audible above our words. Trish was finally waking up.

Leon was happy enough to immediately forget about all of his concern for our future at the very first sign of the woman of the hour waking up.

"…" Trish's eyes opened halfway, and slowly pushed herself up to a seated posture, weak yet in much better health than when we last picked her up. Her left arm was broken; her rib cage was bruised, but somehow suffered little damage, though there was enough pain to make Trish lie back down on her back. A good portion of her body was covered in bruises, and the horrendously large slash around her left hip had become a half-healed wound dressed in bandages and antibiotics. "…I feel terrible…"

Leon and I both slowly began chuckling at the comment, just happy that Trish was at least well enough to make a comically honest comment. "Trish, I can finally say _honestly _that I'm so happy to see you're okay," Leon said with a shaky grin. "You couldn't h-have woken up s-s-sooner, huh? Everyone was… everyone was…" I never found Leon to not be able to finish a sarcastic comment, but upon seeing tears in his eyes just about to gush over his cheeks I don't believe he had the strength within himself to produce one at this point. He leaned down from his chair, and hugged Trish warmly. "I missed you, I missed you _so _much," he said quietly between joyful tears. If this were any other time, I'd have been teasing him right now, but Leon had never displayed an emotion so passionately in all the years I've known him.

"Leon…" Trish began, her hands joyfully resting upon his firm, broad shoulders. "How long have I been out?"

"About three days," Leon replied with a moment of hesitation, pulling himself off of Trish. "We've been so worried about you."

"Three days?" Trish half-yelled, too beaten down to make too much commotion. "B-but… what about my job…? I haven't worked in three days."

I coughed to acquire her attention. "They called, and informed us that your employment had been terminated."

"I was _fired?" _

"Yes."

Trish looked as though she woke up to the sight of another Metrocop with a nightstick in his hand. That job had supported her and Kimberly, and now it was gone, taken away by employers indifferent to her problems, more concerned about the mechanics of their workplace than of their individual employees.

"This complicates everything…" Trish said, holding her head in her hands. Leon placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, though assurance that all would be a leisurely and smooth ride soon enough wouldn't help now. This was a big hit to our incomes, no doubt. Mind you, I wasn't thinking about money at this point; despite how there was literally no way we could afford to keep two residential apartments with all of their provisions and luxuries, fiscal responsibility was one of the last problems on my mind.

"I don't know what to do, guys," Trish exclaimed. "I need that job! Without it, I'd have to leave the City and live elsewhere. I don't want to do that… Shamus, do you have any ideas?"

"It's a matter of finding you another job, Trish," I responded. "Though these days, that's easier said than done."

"Don't worry," Leon consoled, "Everything's going to be fine. We'll find a way to manage."

"How about we give up our apartment when the rent comes around and just live here?" I suggested, a bit more to-the-point than I intended it to be. "Not to impose upon Trish of course."

"Shamus, I don't think—" Leon was cut off.

"—That's a half bad idea," Trish finished, slowly turning her body, the occasional crepitus heard while her joints bent for the first time in three days. "Why not move in now, though? Make yourselves at home, I do welcome you in. Leon, you've probably been busy with your job, so please have a look around. The guest bedroom is next to this room, the bathrooms are in the—"

"That isn't necessary," I interjected, sensing a great opportunity for fun, "He's been looking after you from dawn 'til dusk making sure you were alright. I've never seen him more concerned about you. It was cute, really."

"Shut up, Shamus," Leon grumbled, knowing he could do hardly anything to actually keep me quiet in front of Trish.

"Really?" She asked him, a bit surprised. "You've acted less like an insensitive idiot lately, but I never expected you to have such a sweet side."

"No! That's not—"

I interrupted Leon once more. "Oh don't deny it, Leon! Remember yesterday when you were mad I didn't go out to buy lilacs for Trish's bedside? I had to go out again just to find out the flower shop had went out of business."

Now, I completely made up that story, however, I doubt neither Kim nor Morgan would correct the record; t'is much more fun to watch Leon squirm in embarrassment.

"Lilacs are my favorite flowers," Trish exclaimed, her cheeks a deeper shade of red. "I haven't told you about that since I was little, though." Trish pulled up her covers and held them over her mouth. "You remembered…?"

Leon was completely silent, and now my hapless victim to an onslaught of lies and teasing. "Yes. And you won't believe this, Trish; Morgan actually caught him kissing your cheek goodnight before he went to bed on the couch."

"WHAT?" Leon yelled. I had taken it a little too far, I guess. He looked as though he was about to hit me, though it was hard to take him serious when he was blushing. "IF YOU TELL ANOTHER LIE, I SWEAR I'LL BEAT THE LIVING CRAP OUT OF YOU!"

"Leon…" Trish held her cheek and smiled at him. "Don't play innocent; you may be a convincing actor, but I can now see through the façade."

"W-what are you talking about…" he responded, no longer able to keep his composure he was so flustered.

"You and I have been arguing for years and years, but now that we live so close again, I can see the real side of you. How you think of me, how you feel about me," Trish's arms reached out to Leon, and pulled the powerless man into her grasp. "And to think you've been so good at hiding it. Now that it's out in the open, I can—"

"TRISH?" That energetic voice could have only been our Kimberly Nguyen who had just gotten home from fetching the rations. "Oh my god, I've missed you _so much!_" Kimberly pushed Leon back and hugged Trish, effectively killing the moment I've been waiting for the past week or two. Though it may be obvious to most others, only Kimberly and I believed that Trish and Leon to have very strong romantic feelings for each other. Neither Morgan nor the nice old black man two doors down truly believed it. I'm not so sure why; our neighbor wasn't particularly insightful when it came to romance and women, despite being impressively intelligent on most other matters, but Morgan should have been all but convinced of this! Whenever the topic came up, she shook her head frivolously and said, "No! They've been arguing and hating each other since they met! I don't believe it!" And no matter what we'd say, she would refuse to listen.

It was sometime later when Morgan came home and completed this happy reunion of friends. It became quite emotional, with some of the girls crying over the ordeal. However, this was not over. Trish was to need a few more days of rest before she could rise to her feet. At the least, maybe two days would suffice.

In two and a half days, Trish was able to move out of her bed without much assistance. I remember seeing Leon coming home to the surprise, and hugged Trish for her good health. It was a happy afternoon, but I must say that in retrospect, I lost complete care for it.

Because on that day, my life, no, the lives of thousands, were about to be raptured into a change no one would ever expect from the quiet old City 14."


	7. Chapter 7

Connor M Scovil

It was a quiet night, with little noise coming from the outside apart from the occasional distant train and some sporadic public activity which made me uneasy. Why were they out at night? Did they miss curfew?

Questions of public motivations and distant railroad travel did nothing to stop me from falling asleep. I was tired; too tired, perhaps. I had been sleeping more now that Trish was better, but I haven't been sleeping _well. _However, tonight it seemed, I was going to be able to sleep without problems. Perhaps I might dream.

And good Lord, did I dream.

The instant my eyes closed, I felt a force pull me seemingly out of my body and into another world entirely. I was standing in a pitch black void, yet somehow I could see clearly my own body as if it were as clear as day. I could make out twists and fluctuations within the abyss of darkness, little disturbances which left me paralyzed with fear. T'was a chilling sight; the darkness was so pure, so true to its nature I wondered if I had died in my sleep and was damned to my own personal hell.

_Welcome, Mr. Frankelin…_

A voice, a slow and raspy yet commanding voice broke the silence. I was not alone. His speech seemed to be broken, stressing the wrong words and pausing unnecessarily while he spoke, changing the pitch of his voice at random. In his tone contained an aura of wisdom and distance that would frequently pacify my fears and replace them with determination.

Out of the black domain I saw the man that if I knew not better, I would call the Lord. He was a tall, thin, middle aged white man with green eyes so bright and sharp that by his glance alone this man could bring me to my knees in submission. Black crew-cut hair showed his forehead and his widow's peak, which further added to his professional look, wearing a gray-blue suit and carrying a briefcase. His demeanor was that of a man completely at peace with himself, calm and seemingly completely disinterested in what dark void we were both trapped in.

"Who are you?" I asked, barely managing to refrain from stuttering, "How do you know my last name?"

"I apologize, Mr. Frankelin, but I have," the person I would come to know as the G-Man paused for a significantly long period of time, his breathing seemingly half-choked, which prompted him to adjust his tie. "Agreed to keep such… information… classified. To be honest, I would not—be here—if my… employers… hm…. Were not so—vocal—about your potential. There is—another—man, who is—more… reliable… than a… 'Child of the Seventh Hour.'"

He looked me over, his green eyes giving me a distant, almost foggy look of disapproval, a look which made me literally feel ashamed of myself, despite my absolute confusion and ignorance as to what in the Living Name he was talking about.

"I-I'm not sure what you're talking about," I admitted, feeling a degree of self-disappointment. "Employers? C-Classified? What do you want from me?"

"I have come to—warn you—of," the G-Man brushed his lapel, and as that dust from his suit fell to the black abyss underneath our feet there was a green flash, and I was suddenly in a world that looked like an asteroid belt. The sudden shock of change literally made me fall backwards in fear. "…The consequences for—rescuing—the girl…"

"But we did nothing wrong!" I insisted, but felt that any other input wouldn't have any effect on a man who seems to care so little about me or most anything else.

"Irregardless," the man hissed his s consonant, and that sent harsh chills down my spine. "I have taken—the—liberty—of… offering you the freedom of—choosing—your destiny.." he inhaled, and upon a moment's pause, continued. "You may receive the… information that can—save your friends, under the condition that… upon success, you will accept—employment, under _my… _directory… or you may refuse my—help—and your local… Civil Protection Team… will be reinforced _exponentially."_

"Hobson's choice; classy," I murmured, looking away if only for a single moment. "But why me? You mentioned another man whom you trust to accomplish your missions, whatever they may be. Why not send him?"

"The right man—in the wrong place—can make all the difference _in the world…" _

The scene once again changed, but unlike most of the other scenes, I was on the planet Earth… tens of thousands of feet off the ground. I was standing above a Citadel, the headquarters of all Combine activity in this city, defying gravity as the heretic defies God.

"So, when you… wake _up," _the G-Man continued, yet again adjusting his tie. "You will go and relay these words…"


	8. Chapter 8

Connor M Scovil

I woke up with a start, my body covered with sweat, on the floor of the guest bedroom. Apparently I had also kicked the mattress off of the bed, but the condition of my resting place was not my concern. I had just woken up from the most incomprehensibly insane dream. Who do I go to? Leon? No, Leon would merely pass it off as a dream and tell me to focus on the real world. Morgan loved to interpret dreams though, no matter how bad she was at it. The only person I could think to turn to now was Trish, who was the one person who understood me on an intellectual and personal level. I stood up from the floor, and struggled to emancipate my torso and legs from the shackles that were my blankets before calmly walking out of the room, and into Trish's room.

"Trish, I—"

I found Trish in her bedroom—with Leon—sharing a passion I've never seen in two human beings. They weren't having sex; Trish probably couldn't handle the constant pounding, despite her recovery. Nay, this was just the conventional make-out in a bed. _Perfectly _innocent, I might add.

"—have come at a bad time," I finished, staring at her and my best friend.

"S-S-SHAMUS!" she yelled out, and I realized I, like Kimberly, am a moment-killer. "It's not what—"

"I don't care if you're with my best friend," I insisted, "because I'm satisfied I can rub it in my sister's face that I was right. But in any case, I—Leon, could you please move your body? I wish to relay a message."

I cannot explain why I said what I said to Trish. I wished to inform her of my dream, despite how awkward my presence was in this atmosphere, but while my consciousness was well aware of what was going on, I was no longer in control. I walked over to Trish, bent over to her side, and told her something I wasn't intending to.

"_Prepare for… unforeseen consequences..."_


	9. Chapter 9 REALLY LONG PEOPLE

Connor M Scovil

Oddly enough, the next day, Leon and Morgan were the only ones inquiring as to what my message meant. My sister was all too shocked at the revelation that I found Leon and Trish one step away from having sex, which in her book would make things 'official,' but my eerie message was her concern. Leon's as well; he believed I had a mental condition, that I threatened Trish somehow. Morgan did her best to defend me, but without knowing what I meant, no matter how many times I tried to explain it to her, she couldn't possibly do so.

"Just because you had a dream some nut told you some nonsense, you went off and threatened her?" Leon asked rhetorically.

"I was _not _threatening her," I said. "The man told me to relay a message, but before that message was given, I woke up. I don't know what happened, but this is—this is quite complicated…"

Trish suddenly darted into the room, carrying a pistol in her right hand, looking more alert than a dog in a thunderstorm. I backed away immediately, my back hitting the wall. Was I about to be shot over this? Oh lord, I wish I had never fallen asleep.

"Everyone, we need to get out of here. NOW," Trish declared, walking towards my direction. "They're coming for us. We need to leave."

Leon blinked. "Wha—"

"You'll need to be armed. Kimberly! Did you find the extra stock yet?" Trish looked towards the guest bedroom, where I slept.

"Yes! I found it!" Kimberly came back, handing out firearms as if it were candy, wearing a backpack which in retrospect I assume was equipped with food and supplies. She handed one to me, and I fumbled it around in my hands before getting a good grip on the stock.

"Wait, wait, wait," Leon said, clearly alarmed. Morgan was frozen to the spot, beaming at me for an answer. "What the HELL is going on? WHO'S coming?"

"The Combine! Who else?" Trish checked her ammo like a pro, and looked towards me of all people. "We were told to stay here until detection, and we'll be given a warning. Unfortunately, our contacts were killed, but we were promised that we would have a replacement signaler. I had no idea it'd be you, Shamus."

"W-what?" was all I could spit out.

"WAIT!" Leon shouted, frustrated greatly that he was being ignored. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?"

"Leon, there's hardly any time to explain," Trish said sweetly, "But we're going to need to leave here soon if we want to get the Rebellion—Oh no, they're already coming!"

The sound of voice modifiers and a couple dozen boots under the floor gave us cause for extreme alarm; The Combine was coming! Their voice distorters made it extremely difficult for any of us to discern a single word they said, but from what I heard from the downstairs, I could swear up and down upon the forever-living God that one of them shouted, "_Sweep the building! Secure the third floor, and kill anyone that comes in visual contact!"_

The question we all wanted to ask Trish was answered by the preceding events, however, we all wanted to ask anyways, probably for clarification or some inane human insecurity. She was a member of the Resistance? Our Patricia Matthews was in the Resistance? None of us could have guessed at that at any time before today. For goodness sakes, I would've guessed she was _pregnant_ before any thought of her breaking the law crossed the mind!

"We have to get out of here," I said finally.

"No fucking shit," Leon shouted at me, taking the lilacs off the table and slamming it against the door to make some sort of barricade. "But how in the living fuck do you think we're getting out of here alive? It's not like Kim is secretly a fucking _ninja _or anything!"

It was then we heard a bang on our door. The garbled, digital noise of a Metrocop ordering the door to be opened rang out for our fearful ears to hear.

"Alright, now get ready," Trish said, kneeling a yard and a half away from the door. "Form a horizontal line; we're going to shoot them down like they shoot us down: in a firing squad."

"Please, Trish!" I pleaded, "There must be an alternative to the violence!"

"_They're _about to shoot _us,_" Trish stated matter-of-factly, "And _you _believe you can negotiate with a bullet?"

As much as I hated her at that moment for being right, I realized there was nothing I could do. I imagine many people tried negotiating with Civil Protection before either being beaten or killed, to no avail. Why should this be any different? I knelt to the left of Trish, and Leon knelt to the right, as Kim and Morgan stood behind us, taking aim at the door like the rest of us, waiting until that next fateful moment in our lives that would change how we would eat, drink, think and live forever.

A steel-toed boot kicked down the door and pushed the table-barricade away. So much for Leon's doorstop; in any case, it was at first sight of any figure resembling human form when we fired our pistols. I nearly dropped mine, to be completely honest. I was a bookworm, a reader not a fighter. Leon obviously didn't want to shoot anyone, since he looked away as he shot at the squad of Metrocops. I don't believe Morgan was able to fire a single shot. Only Kim and Trish were completely composed while they engaged the Combine in our first-ever group firefight.

The skirmish felt as though it had lasted several centuries, however, we managed to decimate the Combine forces within a time span of fifteen seconds. T'was how quickly we reacted that saved our lives; the Civil Protection Team, despite being in league with an interdimensional imperial power, were all humans, and not a single human being had the quick-reaction skills needed to counterattack that hail of bullets before falling to the ground, dead. Upon the cessation of this small firefight, all that was heard was the sound reminiscent of an ECG flatlining, a solemn sound befitting for the dead law enforcers of such a sterile world.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Trish said after a pause. "You might not be able to hear it from this distance, but their masks are sending out coordinates to the location of their fallen comrades."

"What?" Asked Leon, who probably knew the words but would prefer hearing a summarization rather than a proper sentence."

"After they beep, their mask tells their Metrofriends where they died, so if we stick around we're done for," Kimberly said simply. "Follow Trish, she'll get us out of here."

I said nothing; unlike Leon, I knew talking had little impact on the situation we were in, aside from giving time for Civil Protection to arrive. Trish kept her head down, her soft blonde hair resting upon her back and shoulders as she crouch-walked to the doorway. She checked both her left, and her right, and gave us the silent go ahead.

Leon and I were the last two to leave our old living space, the last to step over the bodies of Civil Protection officers killed in the line of duties, a multiplex of bullets riddling their bones and flesh. Morgan surprisingly enough was more able to adapt to this than we were! Leon had no choice. I learned later on that wherever Trish went, he would as well. Morgan probably had the same sentiments for Kimberly. But what of I, one may ask? I wasn't sure. I went along maybe to protect my friends, but in the mindset I was in at the time, as well as now, I didn't believe I had much of a choice in the matter.

"So Shamus, when did you join the Resistance?"

Trish's question took me completely off guard. "What?"

"Yeah, I was wondering that!" Kim beamed one of her cheery smiles at me before turning back around, her butt and her backpack in my face. "I never thought you'd have the balls to stand up to the Combine!"

"Kimberly!" Trish scolded, coming to my defense.

"What?" She asked defensively, "I can have an opinion!"

"Don't fret about it," I insisted, before seeing the body of the old black man I used to talk to in the doorway of his residence, dead, lying in a pool of blood with what I could guess sixty five bullets in his chest and head. "But I didn't join the Resistence."

"What are you saying?" Kim asked as we turned the corner. "Of course you did! How else would you have—hold on a minute."

Three Metrocops were stomping down the stairwell, which was a good reason enough for Trish and Morgan to unleash a hail storm of bullets up the steps. Their shots all hit their target, sending them backwards before sliding down, dead. One of their masks had fallen off; it was that Tony Calhoun from the train station. I don't think anyone felt good about that. Despite how odd his presence was when he talked to us, he was a good guy. I like to think the reason why we're not dead today was because he refused to shoot us despite having a perfect shot at our heads.

"Anyways," Kim continued, "How else could you have given us the warning about the Combine ahead of time?"

"What?"

"Beware of unforeseen consequences," Trish repeated, "Or something to that effect."

"Yeah, that's the message we were told we were gonna get when it was time to skedaddle!"

I was completely bewildered. I don't believe the dream I had was on my mind at the time, as usually life and death situations put every other idle thought in my mind on the back burner. "I-I had no idea—"

"Oh don't be modest Shamus;" Trish assured me, "You saved us all! Without you, we would be as dead as those Combine thugs we took down!"

"Why are we going upstairs?" Morgan asked, speaking up for the first time. The question was blunt and nervous, so it obviously wasn't directed to Kim or I. "Aren't we trying to escape?"

"The Combine's downstairs," Trish stated.

"So we're goin' roof jumping, am I right?" Leon finished her sentence.

"Precisely."

Now I was completely without hope. I had nothing in the way of athletic experience; as I said, I am a bookworm. My exercise consists of carrying and holding stacks of old tomes from a time long past. I had gone on walks with Leon and Morgan, but that was the extent of my physical activity. Roof jumping? To be blunt, if anyone else had asked me to do this with any expectation of success, I would have flat out asked if that person was retarded!

We managed to traverse the second to highest floor without any confrontation. The closest we were to actual combat there was when we passed the sixth doorway, seventeen Metrocops left that same room. Only I seemed to notice them, and none of them seemed to notice us, so thankfully I didn't have to kill anyone else that time.

The top floor was different. Trish ordered us all to make a mad dash towards the stairway to the attic, and our hard footsteps attracted the attention of the Combine's attention. I felt the stinging feeling of a bullet brushing against my left temple and my right shin as we fired back at our foes, downing only a few of our enemies before bursting through the door to the attic. We had absolutely no time to congratulate ourselves, as enemies don't disappear upon disengagement. Combine soldiers could be heard, their virtually unintelligible orders echoing up the tiny stairwell. They could probably hear our panicked voices, "Hurry up!" "They're coming up!" "Where's the exit?" "Can it, you fucking nimrods and JUMP!"

I surprisingly took the lead. We had no means of escape—well, no _conventional _means of escape, and instead, I threw myself headlong into the parallel window. Smashing through, the shattered glass dancing in the air, I landed outside, barely three feet away from a lethal fall. I had no comprehension of what was happening, nor if my comrades in arms were alright. I had just abandoned all reason for my sheer will to survive. I stood up, and immediately charged the next building, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. I landed upon a tiled roof, but with a cut and a bruise, nothing deterred me from escape. I could sense bullets smash against the tiles behind me and beneath my feet. I didn't look down for fear of falling, nor did I want to look at the squad of Civil Protection chasing me. I decided to take another route. I jumped straight onto an adjacent rooftop terrace, landing harder than before. This time, I had to stop to take a few seconds break, as now every time I stepped down on my leg I felt a searing pain shoot up into my body.

However, a second was all I was given, for the Combine was just on the next rooftop. There were less of them; perhaps some had split up after the others or they quite simply fell off to their deaths. It didn't matter; so long as there was at least one on my tail, I could not shake the fear from my body.

As soon as they saw me, I limped towards the far right of the rooftop, firing my pistol until they all had fallen. Unfortunately, after that, I had run out of ammunition. The haunting, petrifying clicks of an empty barrel would forever strike more fear into me than anything the Combine could offer up as a suitable challenge. At that point, adrenaline kicked in, and ignoring all pain, I continued forward, albeit slower than before. I needed to find a weapon, no, I _had _to find a weapon, or my death would be as swift and final as the wrath of God. My eyes scrambled occasionally for a toolshed or an office or something, somewhere I could gain a blunt object. Even a stapler would have reassured me more than an empty gun!

The next few jumps proved to be my last as a bullet pierced through my ankle before another leap of faith, causing me to fall into a garbage dumpster. Thankfully there was a plentitude of disgusting trash and waste to break my fall, otherwise instead of humiliated and alive I'd be dignified and dead. Unfortunately, such was fate that as I rose from my landing spot and fell onto the alleyway grounds, there were about twenty Metrocops turning into the corner. It was over, I thought. I was done for. There was absolutely nothing I could do; I could run and be shot in the back, or I could stand up from my position and be shot in front. I looked up for what I thought was the final time, as my antagonists closed in on me.

"Last words, boy?" said the leader-apparent, his ivory-colored gas mask shadowed over by a stale cruelty which now I have come to expect from this world. "You're going to want them. I suggest screaming for help." He was obviously enjoying this scenario, as he casually approached me, drawing his nightstick, which crackled with sparks denoting a painful electrical charge upon the end.

"There may be an end to my story," I hissed at the group, "But be forewarned; it may prove to be an end to yours, _my benefactors."_

At the end of my empty threat, a boot swiftly came forward and smashed against my shoulder, missing my skull, which it could have so easily crushed. Despite the pain received, I reached up and pulled the Metrocop down by his leg. Like a savage animal I lunged at his throat, taking out my empty pistol and smashing the forehead of his gas mask. Whether or not that did anything to him was not known at that second, but soon I was kicked off, several pistols aimed at my chest and head. I saw the officer I had just assaulted rise from where he lay, _very _angry at what I had done to him.

"You didn't think I'd fight _back?" _I snarled in a beastly rage, a wild grin on my face. "You've busied yourself with beating helpless citizens too much!"

"Can it!" screamed the officer. "I'm done with your shit. _Kill him."_

My former benefactors, all at once, turned off their safeties and confirmed their target. T'was the end for me, I believed. There was nothing to be done, nothing that could save me, just bide me some time. However, the little time I had left was not something I wished to waste staring down the barrel of a gun. Something in my head gave me a new energy that allowed me to jump behind the dumpster and dodge the barrage of bullets that blasted the concrete where I one moment ago lay, almost accepting my fate.

"You're really pissing me off," I heard the officer seethe, but before he took three steps towards me, I heard the door behind me burst open. It was a group of rebels. They seemed entirely out of place, as if they were searching for someone in an unfamiliar area of the city. Their outfits were different as well. Instead of the usual navy blue civilian boiler shirts they wore guerrilla-style uniforms, rough and packed with light supplies and the like. There was a woman in charge, her caramel skin scarce to the sight of human eyes and her short African hair covered by a half-worn hood. Her face was shrouded by a keffiyeh scarf, but what I could see for certain were her onyx black eyes, and her commanding voice.

"Combine! Get the kid and take them down!"

Suddenly I found myself trapped between two sides, the crossfire just inches from my face, threatening to consume me. I wasn't afraid, nor did the pain of my injuries hurt; I credit that to the adrenaline. I suddenly jumped to the Rebel side of the alley, taking a chance at escaping the death I found certain if I had stayed. Soon enough, the firefight ended, most of the rebels having survived. That luck was not extended to the Combine.

Rushing over, two medics grabbed my body and pulled me towards them to tend to my injuries. The adrenaline was still flowing through my veins as the woman I owed my life to approached me. "You're Shamus Frankelin, right?"

"Yes. And you are?"

"Zula Kemen," she responded just as bluntly as I asked for it. "Come with me, we're meeting up with another group that found your friends."

"Ma'am, let us patch him up first," said one of the medics, who were in the middle of unwrapping the bandages. I was beginning to feel the injury again, which was not pleasant to say the least.

"Fine; finish what you're doing double time," she conceded despite her obvious impatience. "I want to get to the others in the next five minutes."

"Yes ma'am."

After a couple minutes, I was restored. Well, I was restored to the limits of what two people can accomplish in two minutes. In any case, I was stood up, and I was face-to-face with my rescuer.

"Thank you for—"

"No time, let's get going." Zula was one of those types, apparently. She was what would colloquially be known as a 'No bullshit woman,' which I appreciate greatly, but only in small doses. It was a time to make haste, however, so I decided pleasantries could wait a few more minutes or hours, however long it would take to be reunited with my friends.

"How did you do it, mate?" a man with shaggy hair and unkempt facial hair asked with a voice sounding Australian. "I'd never heard someone run that far out on their own, I tell ya!"

"I almost didn't, though," I reminded him politely. "If it weren't for you and your officer, I would have been shot right there."

"We're only doin' our part," he said proudly. "For a better way!"

A better way… that was exactly what Kimberly was talking about at the train station. When I looked back, many things became apparent. Trish may not have been beaten at random, though beating a woman is nigh unforgivable under most any circumstance. Kimberly was obviously expressing her belief in resisting the Combine at the train station, though at the time I was absolutely oblivious to that fact. Kimberly worked in Civil Protection as a secretary… was she really fired… or did she _quit _when she felt she was suspected of espionage? Heh; maybe Leon was accidentally right when talking about Kimberly being a secret ninja. I was so introverted upon my thoughts and my revelations; I failed to realize where I was being taken until I arrived. It was outside of the ghetto, I believe. Or perhaps, maybe it was underneath… I don't particularly remember because it wasn't extremely important… Ah, yes! I was located inside the old bunker from the Seven Hour War, one of the ones that weren't completely incinerated by the Combine's superior weapon arsenal. Upon seeing the interior, of course, I can see despite its survival it was quite worse for wear. There were plants, vines growing up upon the walls, and cracks in the concrete; not from age, but from damage sustained by a near-direct hit by Combine enemy forces. Scorch marks were apparent every now and then, but I didn't find them to be old, but in reality, near brand new. It was one of the largest remaining bunkers on the planet Earth, though to say this was the largest ever made would be an exaggeration.

"This is only a checkpoint," Zula said, breaking the silence between us. "We'll stop here before continuing forward to the Eastern Point and meet up with our comrades and your friends here." I nodded silently, still looking around for the satisfaction of my curious eyes. The amount of rebels in this place added up to the size of a small company; however, they behaved more as friends than as soldiers. The mechanics were repairing an old pre-war tank, but they were also talking with the Aussie infantryman that was talking to me earlier, having a nice and lively discussion alongside doing their jobs. It was an oddly warm, welcoming sight; I was but for a moment, more inclined to stay than to go, however, the warmth of a campfire is welcomed yet ineffective outside of the campsite; one can hardly feel it at all, but of course, it's there. But when I am with my friends, that blazing heat rejuvenates my spirit and gives new feeling to my heart. They were my fire, my refuge, not this.

For two days I resided here under the watchful eyes of Zula Kemen, who ran the barracks much more strictly than her predecessors in the Seven Hour War. Yes, I mentioned earlier that there was heartwarming interactions that reminded one of that once-forgotten age of humanity, but the only reason why those conversations existed at all was either because Zula was not present, or they were doing their work (effectively) while having said discussions. I was surprised that "Commander Zula" as they called her, was able to find a good balance between keeping her soldier's morale and keeping them productive. However, from the second I arrived to the end of the second day, I desired nothing more than to leave.

On that second day, Zula Kemen approached me with a map and a pistol in her hand. She handed the weapon to me, which I took, and also gave me a hoodie and an old hunting rifle, which I also took and gave thanks for.

"We're going to take you from here through the ghetto," she started, opening the map onto a table, pulling me over to view. "And there will be a small group from another squad to take you through the canals and to their base of operations, where you will find your friends."

"Where is their base?" I asked, wanting to know my way there in the case that something went awry.

"That is not information I wish to disclose to you. You understand that the Combine do interrogate their prisoners I hope."

"I do."

"Well, then, be prepared to leave in a half an hour. Pack up your things, and I'll see you out safely."

I really did not have much in the way of personal belongings, so I didn't spend all that much time packing. I decided upon taking the other pistol, the one I had a acquired from Trish and Kimberly. T'was the only object among this small arsenal of weaponry I held much value in, and despite being virtually identical with the newer pistol, I could tell them apart by just the feel of the weapon's stock.

While checking the ammunition of my weapons, I heard a loud chirping noise coming from the darkness. Flashlights were attached to my pistols, so shining a light into dark corners was not outside of my abilities. I did illuminate the blackness that was before me, and saw a sawdust beige quadruped the size of a pumpkin for which I could not discern a specific animal class. It looked more reptilian than amphibian, but the slight sheen of slime upon the ground made me think of a frog. The legs were very similar to that of an insect, and its crickety chirping noise reminded me of a strange bird I heard when I was a child.

Funny thing was, this animal didn't seem to have any sensory organs! There were no eyes or ears, nor even a nose to speak of! Yet I had the feeling that it was looking straight at me, all of its attention, its desire, its… hunger…

"Shamus, look out!"

In the succeeding moment from when I viewed the creature to the moment after, the creature known as a Headcrab leapt forward, widening the large circular mouth underneath its body to take possession of my skull. Zula, the one who called out, had pushed me out of the way, and was knocked to the ground by this creature. I couldn't get a clear shot at it with my pistol as soon as I recognized what was going on; I had more of a chance to hit Zula Kemen than this monstrosity trying to devour her. Soldiers dropped everything they were doing to run over, and Zula was on the ground, panicking, fighting for her life until she finally grabbed the creature and bashed it into the corner of the table, the trauma subsequently killing the Headcrab. The animal fell, limp and lifeless from its killer's savage grasp and onto the ground, dead.

"We've got to get out of here, now!" Zula turned round to her subordinates. "All of you take the underground supply route and get that tank out of the City!"

"But ma'am—"

"I said do it! We'll have other engineers complete the damned thing, just get it out of here!" Zula's fiercely toned words tipped with the venom of authority seduced her soldiers into the state of perpetual obedience. They began their preparations.

"Come on, Shamus, they'll be able to fight off the headcrabs on their own," she insisted, and grabbed my arm as we ran up the concrete stairwell and outside for the first time in days. Neither Zula nor I could enjoy the pure blue sky blemished only by a few clouds for very long, though.

"There they are!" was all I could discern from a distorted, twisted digitalized human voice, but such a voice was the only evidence I needed to know that standing before me was a squadron of Civil Protection units. Their ivory-colored gas masks, their glowing cyan goggles, their dark body armor, all of that which meant authority to this world was staring straight at me with wrathful eyes and violent intent. All I could do was shoot and run, which I did, quite well I might add.

"Stop!" they shouted, taking kneeling positions and firing straight at my legs, but they dispersed as soon as what I at the time thought to be an axe fell at their feet. An inaudible, panicked screams erupted from many of those soldiers as they scrambled away, leaping away from that supposed stick on the ground.

"Take that you Combine bastards!" shouted a rebel who came out of the doorway. He was suddenly knocked down to the ground, screaming for his mother and his God as that damned parasite called a Headcrab eloped with his head, shrieking horribly as a slight crunch echoed out. The explosion happened soon after, a few Combine soldiers being taken out. However, by the time this scene had ended, we were almost out of sight of the event that had just taken place. The fate of that rebel was certainly death, or worse…. Much, much worse…

Their fate aside, both Zula and I had instinctively decided to flee into the ghettos; we were still following the original plan we had set up prior to the previous incident. We were to go through the ghettos and board a raft in the canals, which would ferry us downstream and supposedly deliver us to another squadron of rebels, whom had given my friends safe refuge.

"You weren't hit, were you? You're pretty slow," Zula commented, pulling me forward on.

"No, ma'am," I replied, "The only gunshot wound I have was the one that was treated two days ago. It's that, plus I'm not the running type."

"Hmph," she sounded out in a way that I could only guess was a passive judgment of my physical capabilities. Usually I don't run, and unless my life is about an inch from the grasp of Death, I don't believe I'll ever outrun a single person in my entire life. It's all but a miracle that I haven't been killed thus far.

Suddenly, seemingly descending from the clouds, the echoing voice of an Englishwoman, disinterested and detached from all emotion, sounded out for everyone in the Ghettos to hear.

_Attention, ground units: Anticitizen reported in this community. Code – Block, Cotterize, Stabilize._

Oh, lovely, I thought; the entire Combine knew we were in the Ghettos. The sinking feeling in my chest didn't help matters along at all either.

_Individual: You are now charged with socio-endangerment level 5. Cease evasion immediately, and receive your verdict._

Wonderful! All I had to do was stop trying to escape and willingly go the guillotine! Everything would be just magical! In any case, I had never been in the Ghettos of City 14, but I can only assume they were similar to those of my old City. Unfortunately, they were not. Ghettos are notorious for being built by human beings with no sense of architecture, and the basic concept of convenient locations. If it weren't for Zula, I would have starved to death before any Civil Protection officers had any hope of finding me. There were twists and turns and intersections and crossroads; it felt like one wrong decision or one wrong turn could prove to be the death of all of us!

It did not take too long for company to arrive. We made a wrong turn into the ghetto's epicenter, a kind of city square for the peasantry. Unfortunately, confused peasants were not what greeted us: Another squadron of Combine soldiers accompanied by an Armored Personnel Carrier. If I had one iota less of nerve, I would have soiled myself as its pulse cannon was aimed directly at my head.

Thankfully, I had sufficient nerve, so I knew it was time to run, which I took unending pleasure in doing so. I had the curiosity to look behind me to see what was causing the ground to tremble beneath my feet and saw a dusty path left by a trail of automatic gunfire kicking up dirt and chasing me from two inches behind my very feet. Thankfully, we turned a corner and escaped the path of the gunfire, the stream of bullets instead riddling one Metrocop who was unlucky enough to try to flank me at the wrong, his body torn apart like an unwanted ragdoll.

I had not the time to give that Metrocop a second thought, nor contemplate my excessive amounts of luck. I had to keep running—no—we had to keep running or that luck would prove to be as ephemeral as the wind.

"Fire your weapon next time!" Zula yelled at me.

"Eh?"

"Fire it at them! They're shooting at you, so next time, point your gun and kill them!"

Funny little bit of life trivia, really: I hadn't fired my gun ever since I left the first dispatch of troops. Granted, my gun was in my hand, but despite that little convenience of mine, I had not the sense or the nerve to fire its contents back at my enemy. I decided that would need to change if I wanted to leave the Ghettos alive.

_Individual: you have been charged with capital malcompliance. Anticitizen status approved. _

Lovely; the very title of criminal I had detested so much was now the very category to which I now belong. It's not as if I _wanted _to be a criminal! I desired nothing more than to go back to the residential building and live a passive, happy life with my friends!

_Citizen reminder: Inaction is conspiracy: Report counter-behavior to a Civil Protection Team immediately._

Now to the Combine, the very practice of conscientious objection had become nothing more than a sick criminal fantasy. Citizens were now my enemy? Or are they my friends?

"Keep running!" Zula ordered, before looking up onto a roof to see two Metrocops firing down at our heads. "Get down! Take a position and fire!"

We quickly took cover behind an alleyway wall and fired at the Metrocops, whom either retreated or had been killed, which I doubt. Their death signal did not sound out for us to hear.

_Attention all ground protection teams: autonomous judgment is now in effect. Sentencing is now discretionary. Code: Amputate, Zero, Comfirmed._

The small amount of gunfire in the background made me a little nauseous, as the guns were not aimed at us. Citizens who were suspected of being a part of the Resistence were being executed; at the very first sighting of a Combine presence in any shape and form, I unslinged my submachine gun and open-fired. A few fell, their death signals blaring out into the air, the others firing back at us to avenge their comrades. Bullets riddled the building next to me, smashing and shattering windows while we made our escape.

"I… I'm getting… very tired," I panted, hating myself for not keeping up my physical body like Leon had done obsessively. The man could've come out of the womb rock-climbing on his umbilical cord and I wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest!

"Shamus I swear to God," Zula pulled me forward on; she was almost carrying me she was so strong. "If you stop now I will shoot you myself, do you understand?"

"I do!" I answered back, not particularly liking the idea of being shot by this woman, nor anyone for that matter. "Forward on, comrade!"

Unknowingly, we were about six miles away from our destination. On our way, we had to dodge or engage what I thought were seventy individual Metrocop battalions, though I doubt their forces were so plentiful. They couldn't have been, really; we weren't that important to kill, were we?

At the midway point, we had finally come across the train tracks not unlike the very ones my friends and I had travelled on to enter the City. However, these ones were supply trains, or so I had thought at the time. In truth, the Razor Trains that used _these _particular tracks contained something far more horrible than reinforcements.

However, I digress; verily, we had no way to cross, as the tracks were in a deep artificial crevasse in the ground. We had two choices: give up and die, or jump about a story and a half and kill ourselves.

Zula brought out that map which had guided us thus far to seek out the canals. "So we have gone for eight miles already, but unfortunately we had to take a detour to avoid a large concentration of Combine forces…"

"A detour?" I asked, "But wouldn't that mean…?"

"We're taking the long way," she told me flatly, not making any eye contact as she scanned the map. If we took the original route, we would have made it there if the damn Combine didn't get in the way."

"I would've fought them all for a shorter walk!" I groaned. My legs, now that I thought about it, were itchy as hell. I believe such a phenomenon is caused when the fabric of ones pants rubs against sweat and skin, but Zula of course _never _had to worry about that! She was stronger, faster, and militaristically smarter than I was.

"Suck it up you maggot," she replied irritably. Her sensual voice was her only fault; it did little justice to her orders. "Alright, to avoid traveling an extra thirty six miles by making a very long half-circle around the Ghetto, we'll have to cross the train tracks."

"Wonderful. Tell me when you've constructed us our own personal bridge."

What the problem was that we couldn't jump that far, nor could we climb down without killing ourselves in the process. Out of the train tunnel came six Combine soldiers who had spotted us before we spotted them, and promptly open fired. Zula had immediately pushed me down onto the ground as she took a bullet in the arm, one that was otherwise destined to meet my head with extraordinary determination. A scream of pain erupted from her, soon muffled by her restraint as she fell down to the ground, putting pressure upon her wound to stop the bleeding.

On that note, another stroke of luck had occurred. No one had noticed the Razor Train, so as it passed, it quite literally ran over our enemies, their flesh and bones crunching underneath the wheels. The train had to stop actually, because unlike the Civilian Trains, there had to be a one hundred percent certainty that this locomotive was not to tip over, lest its contents and secrets spilled out and revealed itself to the world. T'was a secret I knew not of at the time, so as the train stopped, we both struggled, but successfully made the jump on top of the train and to the other side of the tracks largely unharmed, and fled.

I ripped off a piece of my clothes and without a word grabbed Zula's arm and tied the ragged cloth onto her wound to better stop the bleeding. We would have to deal with the injury properly when we arrive at our destination, but that was the best I could have done for her.

"Shamus, we're very close, just a few more miles," she said flatly. Zula patted me on the shoulder, giving me a rare smile that was surprisingly warm and childish. "Thank you for your care."

We hadn't any time for more pleasantries, despite her kind side being overwhelmingly pleasant, so Zula and I continued our journey. We continued fleeing before we reached the canals. The canals lead out of City 14 and into the forest, where the map said we would meet up with my friends and our comrades. What was most notable was not the gunshots from the Combine, but from the citizens themselves.

_Attention, residents: Miscount detected in your block. Cooperation with your Civil Protection Team permits four ration rewards._

_Attention, residents: This block contains potential civil infection – Inform, Cooperate, Assemble._

_Citizen notice: Failure to cooperate will result in permanent off-world relocation. _

The detached intercom voice from Overwatch provided us with a bit of insight: those that were not a part of the Resistance relied solely upon the Combine for their survival. To receive the ire of their benefactors would result in indirect suicide. That was why they fought against us as well, but thankfully they were worse shots than the average Metrocops. They were firing from the hip, which made it easier for us to survive, as bullets danced around us instead of striking us down in hailstorm fashion.

It felt like an eternity even before the smell of channeled water and the moss graced my nasal passages, let alone the sight of the freshwater canals blessed my eyes, though in reality… well, at that point reality wasn't much of a concern, so when I first beheld the first signs of success, I was running my hardest. The welcomed adrenaline rush combined with my iron determination pushed me forward as the Word of God could move a Prophet to speak. The only discouraging factor was seeing Zula never falling behind once; she was always at least a yard ahead, pulling on my arm as we rushed to our destination point. The canals, those beautiful canals, I could kiss its moss and bathe in its filth I was so happy to see it. And the raft was there as well! All that was missing was the man who brought it here.

Only when we reached the shoreline did we see that he hadn't left at all.

What rose from the water was a seaweed covered cretin, its long claw-like fingers digging into the thick layer of slime that covered the canal's wall. Its body was a twisted form of human being, and its head was covered by a Headcrab.

To explain, Headcrabs latch onto someone's head, but they don't necessarily kill the host. What follows is a complete reconstruction of the victim's biology, and a surrender of their control of the nervous system to the Headcrab, turning a human being into a zombie.

Twisted roars and screams from a human being in extreme pain filled the air as the zombie climbed the canals, but Zula didn't let it have the chance to live any longer. She took her submachine gun, and unleashed a barrage of ammunition into its body, effectively ending its disgusting biology, and left it to sink into the waters of the canal. We climbed down into the raft. Despite all of the bad news, it was quite a wonderful bit of news that the motor was still working; all I was concerned about was the safety of this vehicle. This wasn't a beautiful vessel that rivaled the Titanic; I would sooner expect it to break under the collective weight of two human beings rather than function for its intended purpose.

"Okay, how do I start this thing…" Zula muttered, which didn't give me any reassurance. I patiently waited for her to start the engine as I took point watching in case the Combine decided to grace us with their company.

"Ah! This is an old diesel model!" She exclaimed, and found the old pull-string (whatever it was), and summoned the beast of an engine, bringing it to life with a thunderous growl raging from the machine and into the water and open air. "Now, FORWARD!"

Whatever she did, it compelled this mechanism to propel the raft forward, down the canals miraculously instead of down under the waves of the water as my faulty physics instincts surmised. We were, to put it quite bluntly, damn happy about this! For the first time I saw a fully human reaction from the otherwise powerful iron fisted Zula Kemen, who joined me in this jubilation and hugged me as we both yelled something along the lines of 'We did it!' while tolerating the unstable bumps and jumps the boat suffered through as it traveled ontop of the water.

We were free.

We had succeeded.


	10. Chapter 10

"Zula?"

"Hm?"

"Do you know where we're supposed to stop?"

"I can't find the map…"

"That's a tad bit important."

"Shut up, Shamus."

That, I'm afraid to say was the extent of our conversation as we floated down the canals of City 14. I'm not sure why our pursuers stopped chasing us, but I don't believe we cared so long as this wasn't the calm before the storm. It's quite a mystery to me still, since I was never again given such courtesy by my former benefactors, but to repeat, I did not care. It was a good respite between gunfire and sanctuary.

Zula never found that map, unfortunately. I don't believe she was too happy, but she lay down on the wooden floor of this raft near me, both of us too tired to stand. Verily, we looked like a pair of oddballs like this. We were a fouled up, dirty, sweaty mess, the smell of our perspiration mixed in with drying blood and dirt and the natural smell of canal-water, though that last particular scent disappeared with our small exodus from City 14, through the small amount of its suburbs, and into Sentry Woods, the forest teeming with wildlife and overflowing with serene tranquility. The soft calls and chirps of the birds, the diversity of the flora surrounding us caused me to doze off every so often. I couldn't have been more relaxed even if I were dead.

"Shamus," called out a quiet, tender voice I could have never guessed was from Zula.

"Hm?"

"I think we're here."

I had to fight my body and soul to pry myself off of the damp raft floor and to my feet. Everything that was my being was pleading with me for just five more minutes of worry-free rest. "Are you sure?" I asked sleepily, covering my mouth with my hands as I let out quite an impressive yawn. "I mean, you did lose the map."

"Yes, but this is a game trail," Zula began to explain, prior to my interruption.

"Game trail…?" I asked curiously.

"A particular path animals use to hunt or to find a source of water," she explained quickly, and continued on as if the interruption never happened. "The Resistance members in Sentry Woods take refuge in abandoned communes, which are usually located nearby a game trail or a river, for hunting and water. The Resistance utilizes the resources for similar purposes."

"Ah, yes, I see," I said to myself, looking around at my surroundings. Sure enough, there were animals in the distance, I believe it was a deer, but the fact such an animal was there was proof of Zula's words.

"So, let's follow the trail and find your friends," she simply said, and beckoned me to come along with her, and so I did.

"So, your friends seemed nice when I saw them," Zula said, climbing over a large felled tree with ease, "I didn't get to talk to them all that much. Who was that Spanish guy?"

"Um… oh, that's Leon, and he's half Spanish, I think," I said as I nearly killed myself trying to climb over that large felled tree, somehow ending up falling onto my back. "Ow…"

"You alright?" She asked, pulling me up with a strong, firm grasp on my forearm.

"Yes, thank you."

"So," she continued, "Tell me about him."

"How come every girl I've ever met wants to know more about Leon?"

"Um… That's… Nevermind," she said, a tad flustered, "Tell me about all of them, then."

"Well Leon's been my best friend since God knows when," I started saying, ducking a branch or two, "An exercise nut, I tell you."

"He's interested in that blonde girl, Trish?" She asked curiously, pushing away a fern branch that nearly smacked me in the face.

"Oh definitely," I replied immediately, "Though my sister thought otherwise."

"I couldn't really imagine it at first since the first time I saw her she was arguing with him about how idiotic it was to start a brawl instead of just shooting at the Combine."

"That sounds just like them," I said with a little smirk and a chuckle, "Those two are two sides of the same coin."

"Um… meaning…?" Zula Kemen was not the literary type.

"…That opposites attract, t'is all," I clarified. "She and he have different opinions among other things, but personality wise they are very similar."

"She seemed more intelligent, though."

"She is," I bluntly confirmed, remembering early childhood when Leon would get extremely frustrated when Trish could beat him at Scrabble, Chess, Checkers, and any other game which required more intelligence than luck. "But he's much more… er… how do I put this…"

"Street smart?"

"Exactly!"

We kept on searching, keeping up a light conversation as we went along. I came to learn that she was the daughter of an officer in the French Foreign Legion during the Seven Hour War, and was with the Resistance in its earliest years. Her father, unfortunately, was wiped off the face of the planet during that brutal war. Then again, that story wasn't unique; many, if not most soldiers found themselves overwhelmed and annihilated by the invading forces of this interdimensional imperium called the Combine. It wasn't uncommon to have a casualty of the war in one's family; it was much more of a conversation maker if one of them survived.

In turn, I told her more about ourselves, and our childhood, _in absentia _of the rest of my friends; most of us were born twenty years ago, though we have no idea about Leon, which I decided not to explain to her. Actually, our parents found him wandering about our suburban town alone, and took him in after he confirmed with the few words he knew he had lost his parents. It was the best decision they made in our opinion, since he's been quite a lot of fun and a wonderful friend. I didn't give her many stories or details apart from Leon's throwing Trish's underwear drawer out the window because she threw out his dumbbells, which always gets a laugh at the thought of a young Leon ripping a drawer full of panties and bras, and while a teenage Trish watched, horrified, hurled the drawer out the window and into the street below, women's underwear dancing in the strong breeze like the leaves on the ground. The newest addition to our group was Kimberly, whom Zula had already known, though not too well, as Kimberly had participated in espionage activities.

"Okay, I'm getting tired of wandering around," she said, before heading over to me, grabbing my pack and taking my submachine gun. "I'm sweaty, tired, and my arm is itching like fucking crazy." Zula raised the gun into the air, almost at eighty five degrees, and fired an entire clip of ammunition into the sky.

If anyone was in the woods, they would hear that, I surmised. The most immediate result was a large owl fell out of the tree, dead as a doornail from what seemed to be eighty five bullets tearing through its body like a meteor shower. However, soon enough, we heard a bit of rustling, and out of the rustling leaves and into plain sight came sixteen guerrilla fighters, aiming their guns at us.

"Put down your guns," Zula ordered severely, her ice-cold glare chilling the air around us. The sheer authority of her words could make me dance (and I don't even know how!), but as soon as she identified herself as Zula Kemen they lowered their weapons immediately. "I'm looking for your base. Can you—"

"SHAMUS~!"

Literally, and I cannot make these sorts of things up, from the treebranch behind Zula, Kimberly lept over her head and tackled me to the ground and gave me a huge hug. "I can't believe it! You're alive! I had no idea you had a fighter in you after all! The Resistance cells in City 14 were all screaming about how the Ghettos looked like a warzone, with the carriers and troops being called in! You must have escaped soon, because they sent Overwatch into the Ghettos and couldn't find you!"

"I-um… I thought the rebels were killed," I replied.

"There are more Resistance cells than mine," Zula said matter-of-factly, trying not to scratch her arm. "Ours were just one of the larger ones. How are the others?"

One of the soldiers stepped up to answer, "The Children of the—"

"We're all fine~!" Kimberly summarized cheerfully, "And Trish and Leon are still arguing, but they're official!"

"What?" I didn't understand her use of the word 'official,' nor did I think I liked it very much.

"They're officially together! It's cute, but very weird at the same time. They still bicker a lot, but it's like they don't care where the argument is going anymore, and then seconds later they're all lovey-dovey again, and then they just do something else! I mean, isn't that weird to you?"

"Okay, so… they're together, right?"

"_Yes."_

"Thank you. So how are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Come on, everybody wants to meet you!"

"_Everybody?" _I asked confusedly. "Why would they want to meet me?"

"Don't be modest!"

She dragged me off to a small shack (with Zula and the other guerrillas trailing us), which after entering we descended down what used to be a wine cellar, into a very, _very _large underground cave. This was originally a mine that wasn't successful, and the entrance had collapsed long ago. Apparently the rebellion found it in the wine cellar after stripping the walls off the room. What a lucky break for them!

What I was met with was not just a cave, but a large amount of Resistance fighters, perhaps over two hundred and fifty, applauding me.

"You and Zula Kemen took on the Combine by yourselves," Kim explained. "We were given constant reports about what was going on, how much of the Combine was dedicated to finding you and killing you, and the fact they couldn't do either made our cause feel… promising. We all said the Combine could be taken down, but you offered us proof that we could take them on and survive. Not to mention, there's another reason why you're well liked."

Ah, yes, there was. It was a very strange fact that the Combine was so focused on Zula and myself, but the main reason why the Resistance was happy I had made it was because so many Combine forces were focused on _us, _they lost all focus on the _others._ Those that remained of Zula's squadron were really happy about that, and I can see why.

For right in front of me were plenty of soldiers, and engineers sitting on a very large Abram's Tank, the very one from the secret base in City 14.


End file.
